


Mercy Street

by orphan_account



Category: Thor (2011), Thor (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Child Abuse, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Forced Relationship, Gender Issues, Intersexuality, M/M, Multi, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Dreaming of Mercy Street...Wear your inside out. Dreaming of mercy, in your daddy's arms again.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Once Ruined Baby, You Stay Ruined

With a final groan of pain, a cry of a newborn child pierced the frigid mountain air. The crimson red eyes of King Laufey, of the Jötunheimr fluttered open, half lidded in pain, and he looked as the careful midwife handed him a small crying child, cleaned free of the blood and filth of the birthing process.

“Healthy, your Highness.” He spoke, and Laufey watched as the baby's eyes opened, revealing emerald specks in, mixing within the bright red.

“He's...” Laufey looked at the cooing baby, reaching up, trying to take the finger of the Jötunn. But the dam could not believe that this was his son. It couldn't be his son. It simply could not be.

Birthed with black hair, the child's oddities were not even completely measured, but Laufey could tell that something had gone wrong, whether in the womb or during the birth process he was not sure. Perhaps the child was just going through with after birth effects. Or rather, that's what Laufey tried to think. The child didn't have completely red eyes, like the rest of Jötunheimr; the emerald flecks were bright in his eyes, distracting, pulling anyone away from the bright red and into pools of green. His skin was almost completely unmarked; there were two marks on his forehead that when down to his chest and stomach, but only those marks, none more. The boy's markings were so much fewer than normal, the midwife admitted truthfully.

The child looked nothing like Fárbauti or him; he looked something completely different. Like an Æsir within a Jötunn's skin. His skin was blue, just like it should be. His eyes, red like normal.

“He's a runt.” Laufey finally said, and the midwife looked down, shame flooding through him. “Why is this, Midwife?”

Fárbauti looked at his husband, whose hands had started shaking with the child in them. The father took the child, coddling him and holding him close to his chest. The child looked at the parent holding him before he was smiling, two sharp teeth poking out. Even his baby teeth were normal. 

“Your Highness, I know not of why.  Jötunn s born with hair come once in a millennia. However, my liege... Jötunn s...as small as he...are...extremely rare and they usually do not survive infancy.” Fárbauti looked at Laufey, who, in his post-childbirth haze, stared as if the midwife had suddenly revealed that the child was Odin, their greatest enemy. 

“Laufey...” Fárbauti started, before Laufey was holding a hand up. He had just been told that not only was his first son a runt, but his first son would not survive their first winter. He frowned, a decision coming to his mind.

“Abandon it.”

“No!” Fárbauti shouted, startling both. He kept a tight hold on the child, who had started to sob and wail uncontrollably. “No...I shall not leaving him...” 

“ Fárbauti, I said abandon it.” Laufey snarled, the Midwife scurrying out, not willing to look into the fight of the runt's parents. “I am your King, as well as your husband, and YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME”

“THIS IS OUR SON!” Fárbauti shouted back, crystalline tears in his crimson eyes. “Our son...” Laufey shook his head watching as Fárbauti gave the child a finger to suck on. “...Loki...”

“Loki?” The King looked at his husband with disdain. “Have you just NAMED it?”

The smaller  Jötunn locked eyes with his husband, stroking the black mess of hair, smiling softly down at him. “Loki Laufeyson...” The now named Loki cooed, giggling softly as his father cosseted with him. “Heir apparent...”

“It is  **not** my heir.” Laufey hissed, standing up and walking towards Fárbauti. “It is but a runt, a disgrace to my name. It will  **not** be called Laufeyson. It will simply be called Loki if we are to keep it.” Fárbauti smiled down at Loki, whom was looking up at Laufey with a confused expression in his poor eyes.

“Stop calling him an it, Laufey. He is a  Jötunn , like any of us.” Fárbauti said, rocking the baby, humming a gentle lullaby. The baby Loki cooed quietly, snuggling into the blanket that Fárbauti had swaddled him in. His father watched him fall into a peaceful sleep, happiness in his eyes at the birth of his first son. 

“It is NOT a  Jötunn .  Jötunn children are not born so small, so insignificant.” Laufey limped towards the exit of the birthing room. “You may keep it; but know this, my husband,” Fárbauti looked up, the newborn held close to his chest. “You shall not lay with me until it is either dead or gone. If it survives the first winter eternal, then it can take my name. If it proves itself to me, then it will become my heir. Else, it is just another rat.” 

Fárbauti frowned, red eyes locking onto his husbands'. “Then I shall not lay with you until he is of age. And I shall prove to you that he is a worthy son, Laufey.” With that final statement, determination in his eyes, Fárbauti watched as Laufey turned and left, leaving the father of the child and the child alone. 

Fárbauti looked down at the sleeping child, walking out of birthing room, taking quiet steps through the snow, towards a cliff's edge. He stroked the child, slowly, as he took a seat. The child could have been held in the palm of the  Jötunn 's hands; he was so tiny... His father rocked him, humming gently. He looked up at the sky, looking at the twinkling of the stars, praying without a word that the child would survive. 

 

*

 

The first winter eternal was just as brutal as it always was. Loki had not died early on, like his dam had predicted. No, he had thrived with the help of his father, Fárbauti. His father had nurtured the boy, feeding him with an ice bottle until the child's teeth grew in. During the terrible time where his teeth grew in, he cried and wailed all day and night long. He could not gain any relief; the pain that racked through his small frame was almost overpowering. 

His father swaddled and coddled the boy, trying to keep him from feeling pain. He gave the boy ice to chew on, hoping it would lessen his pain. Fárbauti could not even sleep with the sobs and cries from Loki's pained mouth. He stayed up, rocking the child and singing to him.

Loki's dam didn't want anything to do with him. He was disgusted with Fárbauti's love of the child. Laufey had indeed started using Loki's name, as he swore he would do. Loki the Runt became Loki Laufeyson, son of King Laufey and Fárbauti. But that was all he was. He was not a prince as he should be. 

The small boy would often attempt to gain the pride and attention he needed and wanted from his dam but it was futile; the King wanted nothing to do with the child he had birthed. Fárbauti knew it as well and when Loki would cry for his dam, his father would swoop down and lift him high and calm the crying child with songs of their history in the Jötunheimr. The child grew to love watching his father row boats through the rivers; sometimes, Loki even climbed on board with his father as he ferried dead souls across the way toward Niflheimr. 

As a child, Loki held a strange sense of wonderment for Jötun culture. The boy watched when his dam would sit in his throne, with a council of elders about, advising him. He was going against the laws of the land but none would harm a hair on his head for the fear of his anger. Even as a child, Loki created fear in the hearts of the Jötuns, even before the second winter eternal. 

One of the more feminine Jötuns, who went by the name Dagmar, predicted that this child, this runt, would bring the beginning of Ragnarök. Laufey, who had doubted that his first born could do such a thing, watched with his council as Loki, young, small, only having been alive a winter and a half, conjured up illusions of Ragnarök, bloody battles and falling soldiers. 

Some of the Jötuns had fear in their eyes when the conjured image had finished. Many had their heads bowed to the small boy, whom knew not of what he had just accomplished. Laufey called one of his servants, who took the small child away and handed him over to his father. Once Loki was gone, Laufey ended the advisory period, telling the elders to return to their husbands. And then, the King sat alone, trying to figure out what had just occurred. 

It was only after that conjured vision that Laufey even started paying attention to his runt of a child. The King had already asked that his husband return to their bed, admitting that he had been wrong about Loki. But the little sorcerer would have none of it; he would cry all night long until his father would come and hold him and sleep with his child. Laufey, who hid his pride that his son could manipulate someone at such a young age, finally relented to his husband's begging and allowed Loki to share the bed with them. 

Fárbauti, however, had a secret that he had not allowed Loki to know. As Loki grew, walking and starting with words, his father's stomach swelled with another. But the little boy did not know it; he only feared that his father had gotten sick and that something ailed him. And Loki, whom had so much magical potential, cursed the child in the womb, without ever uttering a word, without ever knowing that he had cast a spell.

But Laufey knew. 

Fárbauti knew it as well, for one night, when Loki had fallen fast into sleep, he felt blood, blood that should not have been, blood that should have not have come out of his body at any chance. His eyes had snapped open and he sat up, feeling it sticky on his thighs and legs. And he cried out in agony, a loud wail of pain, awaking Laufey, whom sat up with a start, staring at his husband. Fárbauti looked at the bed, blood soaking the sheets, wiping his hands on his tunic before covering his face. Laufey looked at the bloody sheets, standing and making his way to his husband. He slid his arms underneath Fárbauti's thighs, lifting him and carrying him out of the bedroom. Once they were out, Laufey put him down, gripping his face, kissing his forehead. Fárbauti tucked his head into his King's neck, tears sliding down his face. Laufey slowly stroked his husband's back, feeling the sorrow sit on his heart.

He was going to have a real son; not a runt, but a true son... And the child was dead... Fárbauti had miscarriaged and he now cried and cried into his husband's neck. Both cried for the loss of the child, for the loss of another son. With a shuddering sob, Fárbauti looked up, vision blurred from the tears. 

“Loki...” The Jötun breathed and Laufey looked up; the small boy was standing at the corner with a smile on his soft features. His hair, now reaching his neck with gentle whisps, framed the delicate smile and his eyes, which had grown into emerald around the iris that slowly shifted into bright crimson towards the outer part of the iris. 

“Bad thing gone.” Loki spoke, blinking his big eyes, smiling. Fárbauti looked to Laufey, concern in his eyes. 

“What do you mean, bad thing gone, Loki?” Laufey asked with caution, standing up and moving to the small child. 

“Bad thing make Daddy big; Loki take care of it; Daddy not big anymores.” The parents looked at one other then at the small Jötun. The fear in Fárbauti's eyes was so evident that even little Loki could see it. “Did Loki bad?” His father shook his head, holding his arms out as Loki ran into them, sharp fingers stroking the small boy's back.

“No, Loki...” Laufey's eyes narrowed and Fárbauti shook his head, holding tight onto his son. 

Loki had cursed his brother.

The boy had forced his father to miscarriage. 

His magick needed to be put under control. And soon. 

Before he hurt his parents without meaning to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used the original Norse names and punctuation. 
> 
> Fárbaut in Norse Mythology was the husband of Laufey, whom had borne Loki. He was also the one who ferried the dead into Niflheimr. In Marvel, his and Laufey have switched genders; in this story, they keep their original gender roles (Laufey as the mother, Fárbauti as the father.)
> 
> Niflheimr is the land of ice in Norse Mythology. 
> 
> Dagmar is a name that means 'day-maid.'
> 
> Ragnarök is the end of the gods. I'm not going into that. Look it up if you must.


	2. Son

Loki's second winter came around faster before Laufey and Fárbauti even realised it. On the eve of his second birthday, his father had braided his hair, now long enough to reach his upper back. The small boy had hummed and whined when Fárbauti braided in emeralds and rubies into them; it was a tradition that any and all children born with hair should have it braided each day after their second birthday. Royalty had to have gem embedded into the braids. 

They did not sleep that night; Loki was too excited for he knew that the second celebration of birth was always grand and fun. Fárbauti had tried to rock his son into sleep, but the child would not have it. Each time his father tried to extinguish the flames on the candles to make the room dark, Loki would simply reignite them. Laufey was annoyed greatly with the games that his son played. 

When the red moon rose, the festivities begun. All of the villages and estates came to it, for it was not every day that the King of Jötunheimr's first son celebrated his second year of life. The children of the Jötuns laughed, taking the hands of Loki and pulling him into their games. Laufey drank with his council, each commenting that they had misjudged Laufey's son. Fárbauti and the other dams talked about effective ways to keep their children from growing cross with their fathers, who usually abandoned their children and their husband within a few days of the birth of the child.

Loki, on the other hand, was happy; he was accepted within the children at the current time. The adults, however, did not like him. They thought him worthless, and he knew not of it, at the moment of his joy and excitement. One of the Jötuns lifted Loki bridal style, carrying him towards the frigid waters. There were several Jötun boys in the water, some splashing and cheering. The short child started to struggle, crying out as the Jötun boy almost tossed him into the waters. However, Fárbauti swooped down, gathering Loki into his arms and staring down at the Jötun who had dared think about drowning the boy. The tiny Loki held on to the fur cloak that his father wore, burying his face into the soft warmth. 

The other dams ran up to Fárbauti, shouting at the boys in the water in their native tongues. One the dams, Bjorg, a friend of Fárbauti's, grabbed the pointed ear of the Jötun that had tried to throw Loki in, pulling him away for discipline. 

The Jötun's way of discipline was regarded as barbaric to those whom did not understand the culture. If a Jötun attempted to kill a Prince or a King, then he was sentenced to be a servant to the fire Jötuns in  Múspellsheimr; however, the young one whom had tried to drown Loki, who had not been allowed to carry the title Prince, was simply  struck on his behind with one of the ice clubs. 

Fárbauti did not believe in the cruel punishment that; his dam had never done it to him and he would not do it to his own son. Loki's dam though... Laufey had been raised differently, in a home where punishment was given for the simplest broken rule. Fárbauti had already advocated that he would not allow Laufey to give Loki the punishments that most dams and fathers did to their own child. 

Fárbauti could hear the cries of the small Jötun as he was repeatedly struck with a club. He stroked Loki's long hair, turning away from the scene and walking back to the long, table where a large feast was prepared. 

Loki was seated at the head of the table, with his dam and his father on either sides of him. He watched as everyone took hands, raising them to the sky. The small boy knew what to do; at each celebration of a child's birthday, the entire village raised the Jötun up with a muttered song and sacrifice. 

Laufey bowed his head, leading the Song Of The Prayed Age, each gravelly voice joining in until each and every Jötun sang the songs of celebration. The song's lyrics swirled through the air and bounced through the mountain ranges, echoing throughout the land. The song spoke of the birth of Ymir and the creation of the Jötuns; it always started out that way. But then the song would curl into the story of the celebrated's birth. 

And then they feasted; devouring the meat of the ice boars and wolves, the fruits of the ice trees, and the nuts of the frozen ground. Mead was passed around for the giants to drink; for the children, glasses of cider. Gifts of furs and jewels were given to the young prince, offerings of good tidings, until it was the very end of the festivities. The dams and fathers took their sons back to their homes, and Loki, whom had not slept the night before, fell into slumber within his father's arms before they had even found themselves in their bed. 

 

*

It was after Loki's second birthday that his father and his dam spoke to him about a brother. 

“Loki...” The little Jötun looked up from the small ice fairies that he played with only to see his dam and father standing in the doorway. He pushed himself up from the ground, waddling over to his parents, holding his arms out as Fárbauti lifted him, holding him in the crook of his arm. “We must speak to you about something important...” Laufey's face was unmoving as they took a seat on their bed, sitting the toddler down on it. 

“What wrong?” Loki asked, looking from both parents with a confused expression on his little face. “Did me do bad?” Laufey opened his mouth to speak before his husband shot him a dirty look, and it silently closed. 

“No, Loki, you did not do wrong.” Fárbauti spoke, swallowing thickly, almost afraid of what this news would do to their first born child. “Loki... Do you wish for another brother?” The child scrutinized up his face, before letting it relax with a bright smile, sharp white teeth gleaming. 

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” He exclaimed excitedly, bouncing almost recklessly on the bed they sit on. Laufey presses a giant hand onto his first-born's shoulder, settling him down. 

“Then you must not think ill of your brother, yes?” Loki's head tilted in confusion as his father spoke, eyebrows furrowing with a pout on his lips. 

“What happen if me do?” Laufey kept his lips pressed into a thin line, allowing his husband to discuss with their child about their second son. 

“If you do, then a brother shall not grace us, my son. You will have no brother and will be alone again.” Fárbauti brandished his finger, slowly tapping it against the frigid air, as Loki nodded. 

“Loki no think mean.” His parents visibly relaxed, Laufey rising to leave his husband and his first born child alone. Loki climbed into Fárbauti's arms, nuzzling into the cold skin of his father, tracing the patterns of his markings. 

“Come now, Loki... Let us go gather food, yes?” Fárbauti asked his son, who nodded eagerly, as they walked out into village, nodding and waving to the Jötuns they both knew.

“Daddy, Loki be good brother.” His father smiled down at his first born, stroking his hair with gentle strokes.

“Indeed you will, Loki... Indeed you will...” 

 

*

 

Loki watched and waited as his father's stomach protruded, growing with each passing month. His father would often sit with his son, telling him the stories of Ymir and how he came to creating their home, and about how they came from him. Some of the tales of Ymir greatly interested Loki; this, Fárbauti and Laufey both took notice of. 

During the time near the third winter, Fárbauti's stomach had grown in size, and the family knew that in four or five months time, the child would be born and hopefully, he would not be like his older brother. Loki questioned his father about the child's name, only to be told that they had not discussed it. 

Laufey assigned a tutor from the village over to look over Loki's education. The tutor was named Tryggr; he was one of the smaller Jötuns, standing at only 23 feet tall. His body was littered with marks from the many hundreds of rituals he had seen through his lifetime. His eyesight was failing him, but the fact that he could read the runes with the touch of his fingers is what made Laufey invite him to teach his first son. 

Loki did not like him though; he called him cruel words that he shouldn't have known and yet did. Fárbauti didn't like the tutor either; Laufey thought, however, that his husband didn't like the tutor because Loki didn't. And that mattered not to him; he made Loki spend time with the man, learning the arcane and lore of the lands, the way to read the runes inscribed on blocks of cold stone. The written language of the Jötuns was long dead; only the Princes and Kings of the land learned it. Others had no point in learning to write or to read; everything was passed on by the word of mouth. 

Loki learned how to cast spells before he could even write his own name. His father was proud of the boy; the first sorcerer borne in over a millennia. His dam still refused to even grow close to the child. The small trickster also learned the fun of jests and tricks from when he left his lessons early, only to return with a mean spirited joke on his tutor when he arrived.

After less than a perigee, the tutor told his King that he could not teach such a child. Whatever such a child mean, Laufey did not know. All he knew was that Loki had caused distress in the Jötun and his dam resulted in a fiery anger. 

He struck Loki for the first time; a simple backhanded slap. Loki had reeled back, holding his hand to his cheek in confusion, before starting to wail. Continued to be angered by the boy, Laufey continued to punish him, ignoring the cries of pain and sobs of sorrow from his child. That is, until Fárbauti came into view, grabbing Laufey's hand, holding it back and standing in between his son and his husband.

“Fárbauti, step away from this insolent little brat immediately.” Laufey snarled, anger boiling through his veins. 

“No, Laufey, I will not.” His husband replied with a calm demeanour. 

“Fárbauti leave my way, NOW!” Fárbauti didn't. He stood, holding Laufey's wrist with an iron grip, shaking his head. Loki, face brighter blue from the blows, whimpered and hid behind the leg of his father, refusing to look up at his dam. Fárbauti's free hand slid down, stroking Loki's hair as a way to comfort the lad, who was shedding crystal tears from the stinging in his cheek. “Fárbauti this is a final warning; leave my way and hand the runt over to me, or you shall regret it.” 

“I shall regret it? What will you do to me, Laufey? Strike me? Kill me? I carry your son; I am your husband. Leave Loki alone.” Fárbauti attempted to pursuade the King, voice soft. Loki looked from his parents before scurrying away, hiding under the dining table, watching in fear as Laufey replied, in a voice matching his husbands' before striking him.

“Father!” Loki cried out, running from his hiding spot and towards his fighting parents. He threw his arms out, standing in between his father and his dam, emerald and crimson eyes beginning to glow, magick crackling through his veins. His mind was racing, hundred and hundreds of thoughts, spells, and runes running throughout his young mind. His father set a hand on the boy's shoulder, gripping it with sharp fingers, and Loki's magick slowly died down, eyes furrowed in a frown. 

Laufey stared at the boy, then at his husband, before stomping off, leaving them alone. Again... Just like he always did...

Fárbauti sat down on a chair, holding his stomach as Loki climbed into his lap. His eyes were dark, saddened, as he stroked his son's cheek, kissing the boy's forehead. His eyes fluttered closed and Loki sniffled, wiping the tears away from his face. 

“Hush...darling...speak not a word... Father will bring you a mockingbird...”

“And if that mockingbird sings not...” Loki murmured, singing along with his father as he was rocked with a gentle caress. 

“Father will sing to you for the bird..” 

 

* 

 

One night, a few days after a small Jötun's third day of birth celebration, Loki was awakened to the crying gasps of pain that sounded throughout his home. He climbed out of bed, quietly opening the door, peering about for a servant's late night errands. When he saw none, he quickly and silently ran down the ice stairs, coiling around a pillar with the carved Tale Of Life. At the foot of it, he again looked around. Still no one.

That was odd, he realised. Most servants were still running around at that hour; his father had made him bed rather early this night. At the thought, a cry of pain resounded and Loki followed it, running down the winding stairs into the darkness of the servants' quarters.

He had never been there; he had often dreamed and schemed about going down to the servants' chambers, but never went through with the plans. He peered his head inside the room, only to see a Jötun in between his father's legs. He watched in confusion, before a servant saw him, running over and grabbing him, lifting him up and taking the boy out of the birthing room.

“What is happening to Father?” He asked the servant, who sat down with the boy in his lap.

“Your brother is being birthed, Prince Loki.” 

“I am not a Prince...” The young Jötun, a teenager, chuckled, patting Loki's head. 

“Nay; you are. Your dam just will not accept it.” The boy frowned, scrutinizing his face up and closing his eyes at the scream of his father. “He sounds close...”

“Close to what?” Loki asked, looking towards the door, attempting to climb out of the teen's lap.

“Close to your brother being born.” Loki furrowed his brow, biting his lower lip, waiting for the screaming in pain to stop. 

Eventually, it did and Loki was allowed to see his father. When the teen servant released him, the runt Jötun ran for it, bursting through the doors and running to his father. Fárbauti smiled down at his son, a baby swaddled in his arms. Loki climbed up into bed with his father, looking at the baby in his arms. 

“He is named Helblindi, Loki. He is your younger brother...” His father said and Loki peered at the baby's face, markings of royalty and strength and power on his face. He had no hair and bright red eyes. He and Loki looked nothing alike, though he knew that it was his brother. 

“Helblindi...” Loki smiled lightly, poking the boy's nose, earning a giggle from the boy. “My little brother...” 

“You will be such a good older brother...little Loki...” The boy smiled at his father's words, eyes fluttering closed, embracing his father with a tight warm hug before letting sleep take him into a world of dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Loki seems a tad out of character, that would be because he's still a child. All children are different than their adult selves; he'll be come evil. I swear. 
> 
> Bjorg is a name that means 'rescuer.'
> 
> Fire Giants don't have a name in Norse mythology. 
> 
> Múspellsheimr is the land of fire in Norse Mythology, home to Surtr and the Fire Giants. 
> 
> Tryggr is a name that means 'trustworthy.'


	3. What Would You Trade Me For?

During Loki's sixth year, Helblindi turned two; his celebration was just as grand, if not grander than Loki's own. But his older brother was not upset with his parents; he understood it perfectly fine. His brother was celebrated as the first Prince that had been born in a long time; he was the right height, had the markings of a warrior, he was exactly what Loki's dam wanted.

Helblindi didn't have the magickal capabilities that his older brother had. He did, however, have the making of a warrior. Even at a young age, all Jötuns could tell what they would be as they grew older. Their making in the womb and the markings they were birthed with made sure of that; Loki, however, had a different birth. His markings only showed royalty; neither Laufey or Fárbauti understood Loki's place in Jötunheimr. They knew his magick would help their home in some way; in what way, no one knew. To Loki, to his parents, to everyone, he was the first Jötunn born with his destiny up to himself. And that, to the boy, was the best part about

It was also during Loki's sixth and Helblindi's second that Fárbauti grew pregnant yet again. No one had ever seen Laufey so excited; he was graced with a runt, a Prince and soon to be, another Prince.

Laufey, in contrast to Fárbauti's and Loki's relationship, was close with Helblindi; he never struck the boy; he only praised and stayed with him. There was already a dark pool forming in Loki's small heart; a jealous heart of Helblindi's relationship with his dam.

Both had often heard of the Æsir's relationships that paralleled the Jötunn ones. There was a mother, whom birthed the child, and a father, who helped raise it. Fárbauti was Loki's father, Helblindi's dam, and the soon to be child's dam. Though, it seemed to Loki that Fárbauti fulfilled both the mother and father roles for him; Laufey was his dam, in only the name; else, he was nothing but a stranger to Loki.

His own dam rejected him.

And by the rejection he faced from his dam and his King, he faced the rejection of those who had been called friends.

 

*

 

Fárbauti's childbirth was just as laborious as his previous one had been. He cried in sorrow and in pain all through the day and night; Laufey was by his side. Loki, forbidden from seeing his father and dam, was sent to take care of his brother. Helblindi, whom had turned three and a half, needed the attention of his brother, turned eight ten days before his own father had gone into labour.

When they were finally allowed to see their father, he had birthed another healthy child. Loki neither frowned or smiled when he watched his dam swaddle the boy and carry him from the birthing room. He knew that he would never get the same attention from his dam that his father gave him; his short stature and size kept the King from even calling him the Prince of Jötunheimr.

The third son was named Býleistr; Loki cared not for him at the time. He already had one brother to look after; the newborn's dam and father would look after him.

But after Loki's last brother was born, he slowly started to come to realisation that he was no longer looked after as he had been. His father was now the dam of two boys, both not even considered children. His own dam was the father of his brothers, and never even looked after Loki.

Loki was... alone...

He realised this soon after his youngest brother's first birthday. He was almost nine years old; in three years, he would start puberty. In five years, he would be married off. He had very little time to become a Prince in his dam's eyes; and he hoped that he could do it. He watched his brothers age and grow; his youngest brother was taller than him by his second birthday. His middle brother was four, almost five, and he was taller than Loki.

He truly was a runt. He wasn't a warrior. He wasn't a giant, like he was supposed to be. He as just a child in both of his parents' eyes.

Loki, though, knew what he was capable of. He knew that he was going to be Prince, then King. And no matter what his dam or his father or his brothers or the others in the villages thought of him, they would never even expect to see the rise of the runty Loki.

 

*

 

Þrymr , a friend to Laufey, sent a bird, requesting that Laufey's husband and first son come stay with him. And Laufey was all too happy to allow it, preparing his first son's luggage and allowing his husband to prepare his own things. 

Loki and his father set out on the dawn of the blue moon and the rising of the red moon. They walked through the snow, hearing it crunch beneath their feet. Loki was cloaked in black leather and fur; his father wore what he always did: a fur cloak and pants. He was not carried; he walked the way.

Days passed; one day, Fárbauti killed an ice boar, starting a fire and cooking it for his son. Loki sat near the fire, eating the meat that his father had cooked for him. The fire burned blue, an indication that Loki's magick is what caused it. It was a way to keep them warm but not harm them; Loki's magick was growing stronger by the days that passed.

About halfway there, Loki's father finally spoke. Both their voices were gravelly, throats sore from the silence.

“Loki...”

“Yes, Father?” The boy asked, holding the hood back as he looked up at his father.

“Do you fear the dark? I have never asked you; you always seemed to keep quiet about your fears.”

Loki's teeth embedded themselves in his lip, not sure how to answer. His father never usually asked him about his fears, and Loki never usually spoke about them.

“No, Father I do not. The dark is a friend of mine; I fear not the embrace of it.” He finally said, and Fárbauti smiled softly. “Why do you ask me, Father?”

“You are such a quiet child, my son. I ask for I wished to see how you would answer.” The Jötunn chuckled, shaking his head. “And as I expected, you have the same silver tongue I had at your age.” Loki gave a brilliant smile, knowing that his dam had fallen in love with his father when they had been his current age. And by that, his dam had also grown to love a silver tongue that spoke words of silver and gold.

They slept through the day of the blue moon, and travelled by the night of the red moon. Loki and his father kept quiet throughout the way, until Fárbauti stopped, looking around in fear.

“What bothers you, Father?” Loki asked quietly, shifting around in his clothes, fingers finding his silver throwing knives.

“There is someone here.” He replied, and his son looked about, a quick flash of silver sailing through the air, stabbing someone in one of the snow covered bushes. A groan of pain came out, and Fárbauti's arm was covered in ice spikes. He pushed his son behind him, gravelly voice bellowing out. “Show yourselves, you cowards!”

And they did just that; the two Jötunns were surrounded by many men of smaller stature, light hair and light eyes. Loki pulled out another of his daggers, looking at some of the men with anger and hatred in his eyes. “What need do you have of my son and I, Asgardians?” Loki's eyes widened in surprise; Asgardians? In Jötunheimr?

“Fárbauti, Husband of Laufey, your son is heir to the throne is he not?” One of them spoke and Loki knew it was not in his place to answer.

“Which son? I have three.” Fárbauti replied, with a biting tongue.

“Your first born.”

“No, my son Loki is not heir to the throne.” Fárbauti replied and Loki nodded sadly.

“You speak lies.” The Asgardian man said and then there were Asgardian men falling on them, grabbing Loki and pulling him away from his father. He screamed and shrieked, struggling though he was so much smaller than the men. His eyes were wide with terror, and immediately he tried to cast a spell.

But the spell that was cast only served to turn some of the ice to water; his mind raced, trying to figure out a helpful spell, but the men grabbed his hands, holding them behind his back. Loki watched as his father fought and fought, knocking others over, stabbing them, trying to get back to his son. There were arms holding him, fingers trying to gag him and blindfold him. Loki struggled more and more, calling out to his father. But perhaps fifteen men fell on him, forcing him to the ground, stabbing at him with knives and swords. The small Jötunn screamed for his father, interrupted by the voice of another man. “Force him into sleep!”

Loki screeched, as his father tried to reach him, but then there was a throbbing in the back of his head, black fuzzing at the edge of his vision. His eyes struggled to stay open, his voice trying to call out for his father. But he couldn't; the black over took his vision almost immediately, the sound of two voices the only thing he could hear before he blacked out.

“Heimdallr, open the Bifröst!”

“NO! LOKI!”

 

*

 

The first thing that Loki noticed when he was awaken by the sound of hooves and shouts was that his hands were bound with silver chains, and his mouth shut by a silver gag. His eyes widened and he tried to open his mouth, only to find that it had been magickally fixed to his face. He looked around in terror, seeing not the Jötunn blue skin he knew, but the pale skin of the Asgardians. 

He was sitting on a horse, a large hand holding him still. 

“Father, I thought the monsters were not supposed to be brought into Ásgarðr?” A small tenor voice came out, and Loki's eyes immediately widened, looking to find it. He did not know how he understood the boy's speech, but he did not care. His red eyes found a pair of baby blue, whom was staring at him in curiosity. 

The little boy had short blond hair, and was dressed in a black under-shirt with a red jerkin over it; his pants were black and his boots were brown. But Loki's eyes were not on his outfit; they were on his eyes. He had never seen anyone like that in his entire life. 

“Thor, this child is different.” Loki's eyes narrowed at the name; he had heard stories about Thor, the crowned Prince of Ásgarðr. About how he could control the elements of a storm with the simple flick of his wrist, about the mighty hammer he would soon wield, about how his father was Loki's dam's worst enemy. “With him in our possession, Laufey will give us what we desire without a moment's notice. It is a strategic movement.” 

At that thought, Loki visibly tossed his head back, shoulders shaking in quiet laughter. The All-Father and Thor looked to the boy, questioning gazes in their eyes. Odin nodded to the man holding Loki, whom then removed the gag that kept Loki's mouth silent. 

“My dam would give you scum naught a silver coin!” Loki shouted at them, before the Asgardian holding him dug his nails into Loki's shoulder.

“And what makes you say that, little Jötunn?” The Asgardian holding him asked as Odin and Thor approached the Jötunn. 

“My father will tell my dam and you will have a war before a coin is given up for me!” The All-Father bowed his head regretfully as many Asgardians bellowed in laughter. He raised a hand, silencing all, and Loki furrowed his brow. “How dare you laugh at my Father, the great Fárbauti, Husband of King Laufey!?”

“They laugh not at your father, Loki Laufeyson.” For the first time, Odin spoke, Loki's eyes turning to him. “They laugh at your naivety.”

“My naivety?” Loki was confused as the All-Father placed a hand on his son's back, whom had bowed his own head in respect. “I am not naïve! I know this for a fact!”

“How could your father tell your dam anything if his spirit is in the bowels of Hel?” The Asgardian behind him laughed and Loki turned to him with hatred and fear in his eyes. 

“What do you mean? Surely you must jest with me...” Loki whispered, fear filling his voice. 

“Nay, they jest not, young Laufeyson.” Odin said, Loki's eyes turning back to him. “Your father died whilst trying to get to you.”

As those words dawned on the small Jötunn, tears sprang to his eyes, shaking his head frantically. “You lie...” He breathed, though by the bowed head of Thor and Odin, he knew it was true. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes and he furiously attempted to wipe them away, ignoring the shouts and catcalls of victory from the other Asgardians.

“We killed that beast with naught but a struggle!” 

“He was not even a trial!” 

“How are not all Jötunns that easy!?”

Loki looked at Thor, noticing that this was the boy he had seen standing and watching his father fall, watching him being taken. His hands clenched up into fists, trying to wipe away the tears that spilled from his eyes and down his cheeks. 

These Asgardians had killed the one person who adored him; they killed the one person who cared for him. 

They had killed Loki's reason for stability.

He was now even more alone than before.

And loneliness does terrible things to a child's mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heimdallr is the Norse rendering of Heimdall. 
> 
> Bifröst is the rainbow bridge. 
> 
> Ásgarðr is the Norse rendering of Asgard. 
> 
> Magick is a correct rendering of magic.
> 
> Þrymr is the Norse rendering of Thrym, a Frost Giant, famous for the Poetic Edda story, The Lay Of Thrym, where he steals Thor's hammer, and Thor and Loki dress up like bridesmaids.


End file.
